


Lost Causes

by Jadesky1



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon all the way - until it's not, Civil War AU, F/M, There aren't just two sides in this story, This so won't happen but I can dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesky1/pseuds/Jadesky1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's side have pretty much lost the Civil War, but a friend is determined to make sure they don't lose everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry. I'm having a bad case of writer's block with my other stories but hopefully this 'shortish' two-parter will make up for that a little. All mistakes are mine as this is unbeta-ed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the many, many things I'm looking forward to in CA:CW Sam and Bucky actually meeting and hanging out is definitely way up there. Here is my homage to what is sure to be an epic Bromance.

They were cornered.

They were huddled behind a pile of crates in a dusty, run-down hanger in a long-abandoned airfield - there was literally nowhere to go. Stark or Ross had known what they were doing when they set up this ambush. They’d even sent in US Army forces.

There were only eight of them but between them they had all the exits covered. He could potentially fight his way out, but not without inflicting casualties. And even if he’d been willing to do that, which he wasn’t, Sam’s worried and resigned gaze made him feel guilty for even running the scenario through his head. He abstractly knew that it wasn’t his fault, it was what he’d been conditioned to do. Still made him feel like a worthless dog at the best of times though. At least the soldiers who had them pinned down weren’t firing. Yet.

“See any options?” Sam asked him quietly. Bucky shook his head no. Sam sighed. “I was afraid of that. My mom is going to be so mad at me.”

Bucky turned and gave his friend(?) a confused look, “What?”

He’d just spotted a potential egress point near the roof further back. However getting the two of them out before bullets began flying would require a grappling hook. Which they didn’t have.

That train of thought was instantly derailed when Sam unexpectedly placed his side-arm down on the filthy concrete floor, and with a forceful outward flick of his arm, pushed it so it skittered out into the open space to the side of their cover. Continuing his stream of dumb-ass moves Bucky didn’t understand Sam then called out to the surrounding troops in that clear confident baritone of his, “I’m unarmed and I’m coming out, don’t shoot me. Please.”

Sam started to rise—with a slight wince--from the crouched position he’d been in for the last 11 or so minutes, and had begun raising his hands before Bucky’s brain unfroze and he finally forced Sam back down with a firm hand on his shoulder.  OK maybe it was a bit too firm as Sam landed smack on his behind. Screw it, he was lucky it was Bucky’s right arm he'd used.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky practically hissed. He’d rated Sam’s intelligence quite highly to this point. Clearly that had been a mistake. He knew it took a special kind of nuts to follow Steve (him and the Howlies being historically documented cases-in-point), but still.

The fact that Sam could shoot him a half-amused, half-pissed off look, while simultaneously re-arranging himself into a position that less closely defined the term ‘knocked on his ass’, was yet another reason Bucky was quickly growing to like the guy. Current idiocy non-withstanding.

“Look, I know I’m the only reason you haven’t pulled your Houdini act and gotten the hell out of here already,” Sam explained in a soft voice.

He might have a point, but that didn’t mean Bucky was going to let him do this.

Sam’s expression had now shifted to 100% amused “Did you know you and Steve both have the same ‘stubborn mule’ look? Did you learn it from him or him from you?”

Surprising himself slightly Bucky answered with “That’s all mine, he just turned it back on me.” He paused a moment, taken aback by the clarity of his recall on the subject, but he shook it off. He needed to focus on the latest dire and aggravating situation in the seemingly never ending string of them he liked to call his life. _Oh, suck it up Barnes._

“Stop trying to distract me. If you think I’m going to let you throw yourself to the lions to save my sorry behind you’ve got another think coming Wilson. It’s bad enough I let Steve get away with pulling that shit.” If he didn’t know that it wasn’t possible, he’d swear Steve’s particular brand of self-sacrificing stupid had somehow become contagious.

Wilson actually snorted this time. The jerk.

“You do realise you didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. We purposely waited until you were finally asleep from exhaustion and then plotted behind your unconscious ass so that Bucky Barnes, patron saint of watching Steve Rogers’ six, couldn’t interfere in what was a very solid plan.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow and tried to inject his response with the amount of disdain he felt that comment deserved, “Solid?”

Sam nodded his head in the direction of their unseen (but increasingly impatient if the shifting Bucky could hear was any indication) opponents. “Come on, don’t you think there’d be more than eight of them if it hadn’t worked?”

“Fine, so whatever distractions Barton and Wanda were roped into seem to have paid off–"

“And Spiderkid.”

“What?”

Sam shrugged, “The kid’s helping too.”

“Why? I thought Stark was his hero.”

Now Sam was properly smiling. “He figured out he could do better. He’s a smart boy.”

 _Huh_. “Well Steve tends to have that effect.”

Sam’s grin grew larger, “No, not Steve. It seems the kid really likes you Sarge.”

Bucky felt his jaw drop. “But…” _I’m a killer, I hurt people, I betrayed my country,_ “he called me Sergeant Winter Bucky!”

The smile on Wilson’s face actually had the nerve to blossom into a quiet chuckle at Bucky’s shocked indignation. And Bucky’s answering glare only seemed to incite him to more laughter.

“Errr, Mr. Wilson? Sergeant Barnes? Are you coming out?” A clearly military, but fairly young, voice rang out across the hanger.

“Just a minute!” Bucky and Sam managed to yell back almost as one.

That set Sam off again. But it only lasted for a second or two as the seriousness of their situation imposed itself again.

“Yes the kid clearly finds you both terrifying and irredeemable.” Bucky tried hard not to visibly flinch when Sam suddenly rested his hand on his flesh shoulder, but the annoyingly insightful bastard still noticed. He didn’t take it off though.

“Look I know you think we’re all doing this out of loyalty to Steve, and yes I won’t deny that’s a big part of it. And there are other reasons too. But one of them is the fact that we actually kinda like you Barnes.”

“Gee, thanks Wilson, I don’t know what to say, it’s all so sudden.” Sometimes sarcasm was the only safe response. Sam simply squeezed his shoulder in reply.

_Yeah, OK, I like you too Wilson. Even if you did steal my best friend._

“I know you’re probably a few years and bucket loads of therapy away from liking yourself, but maybe having someone like Spiderman, who has no prior loyalty to Steve, actually choose to be in your corner might help you believe the rest of us when we say this...”, he turned towards Bucky, and this time both of his shoulders were in the Falcon’s surprisingly strong grip before even his enhanced reflexes could help him dodge out of the way. “You are not what they made you do. You are a good person.”

Bucky opened his mouth to counter this. He wasn’t, not really. Not when it mattered. But Sam had already moved on to saying something else. “Back in DC I told Steve that you weren’t the type of person you save, that you were the type of person you stop. I was wrong and, as I’m about to go get arrested and possibly thrown into a deep, dark hole for a while, I needed to tell you that.”

Crazy, the lot of them.

Bucky felt his throat tighten and responded in the only reasonable fashion. He shoved Sam off of him. Just enough to make him rock back on his heels and use his hands to steady himself. “You’re a punk Wilson.”

Sam’s smile was softer this time. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Now explain to me why the hell you think I’ll let you turn yourself in when that part of your ‘solid plan’ worked out so wonderfully for Steve? You said his terms of surrender were they wouldn’t come after us.” He pointed a lazy thumb towards their oddly reticent would-be captors, “In case you didn’t notice, they came after us”.

Sam shrugged again “Let’s call that part a work in progress. You honestly think Steve’s going to let that go?” Bucky might not remember everything, but he knew enough to know Sam was right in this regard. Not even he could out-stubborn Steve when he was on a mission.

Wilson clearly took his lack of response as the begrudging agreement it was.

“Who knows, maybe having two former Avengers guilt-tripping him will get Tony to make sure his side keep their promises. You’re a fucking war hero and a POW, not a terrorist. You should get to come in on your own terms and with the full post-service support you’re entitled to.”

Bucky could take down armed and highly dangerous opponents without blinking but this…

“I’m not…” He took a deep breath, “They’re only…”

Sam cut him off. “Anyway this isn’t about you, it’s about apple pie.”

_What?_

“Pardon?”

“As terrifying as my Ma’s angry face is, it’s got nothing on her disappointed face, and if she finds out that I let down Cap by letting you get caught, after all this, I’d get the ‘dialled up to 11’ version.”

Sam paused for a second “Sorry that reference is from-”

“This is Spinal Tap – yeah I know.”

At Sam’s surprised look it was his turn to shrug. “Hiding out for two years, not a lot else to do.”

“Guess not. Maybe you can talk Steve into watching it, I’ve tried but no cigar.”

“I’ll give it a go but without understanding 70’s music he probably wouldn’t get it. And Steve’s never been that adventurous when it comes to music, I can’t see him voluntarily listening to Sabbath or AC/DC.”

“You like AC/DC?”

“Of course. I like all sorts of music and they’re classic rock for a reason right?”

“I just realised that we could have probably ended this a lot sooner if Tony had just met you.”

“Huh?” Bucky asked distractedly. If they were being given time to discuss 80s mockumentaries and old rock bands something had to be going on. He split his focus. Still tracking what Sam was saying but also trying to listen in to what was going on across the room. It was one of the few useful things Hydra had taught him, even if it did tend to give him a headache if he did it for long.

“I mean you’ve got decades of dirt on Steve, you’re as sarcastic as Tony is and…”

There it was. He could hear a click of a radio and a request for an ETA from one of the soldiers.

“…you could bond over “the majesty of Back in Black’s guitar riffs”, his words not mine.”

There was a response from whoever was on the other end of the comms channel. Shit.

“Hell, Stark would probably want to adopt you.”

Bucky grabbed Sam’s attention with a pointed look even as he replied in a light tone, “Too old for adoption,” and used the index finger of his right hand to write a message in the thick layer of undisturbed dust that still lay on the floor between them. He didn’t think they could hear them, even a parabolic mic wouldn’t work without a clear line of sight, but no point risking it.

He traced out ‘16 C – ETA 15min’.

He hoped they still used Charlie for enemies in the forces. Though referring to fellow Americans as enemies made him feel more than a little uncomfortable.

Sam nodded showing he’d got the message about the troops waiting on reinforcements, before playfully replying with “This is Tony Stark. He could make it happen if he wanted to”.

Sam traced his own message in the dust ‘U evac 5 min’. Bucky shook his head refuting both Sam’s written and spoken words. He wasn’t going to leave Sam to face the music alone. That wasn’t the person he wanted to be.

“Yeah, shame. If I hadn’t killed his parents, we could have been best buds.”

Sam shot him an aggravated look. He couldn’t tell if it was for his comeback or his refusal to go. Probably both. “So I was explaining about the apple pie…”

Sam wrote another message on the floor ‘Can they hear us?’

“I was wondering when you were going to get back to that.” Bucky focused on the soldiers again. It didn’t seem like they had any idea what was being talked about. No-one was willing to get close enough until back-up arrived. He shook his head ‘no’ to Sam. At least one thing was going their way.

Sam relaxed slightly at that “Good because we were running out of floor”. He swept his hand through the words they’d traced out, creating an oddly clean spot in the otherwise filthy building.

It symbolised Sam quite well Bucky thought.

“So what’s wrong with apple pie?” How Sam thought a dessert was going to make him leave he really couldn’t fathom.

Sam looked comically aghast “Nothing is wrong with Apple Pie. Apple Pie is awesome. And Ma Wilson’s Apple Pie is legendary. You need to try it.”

It was nice that Sam thought he’d get the opportunity. He didn’t think it likely himself. “Sure.”

“So yes, my Mom will be a little angry if I get arrested and charged by the Federal Government, but that’ll only be because she loves me and worries about me. However, if I let Captain America down by letting you get caught–and you know if those reinforcements are on the way, those other seven, or I guess five now Spidey and Panther Guy are out, those five groups of creeps after you are going to be close behind, and no way those boys out there can handle those types—my Ma will be worse than angry, she’ll be disappointed in me.”

“So no pie?”

“Worse she’ll make loads, with apple and cinnamon.”

OK, now Bucky was lost.

Sam shot him a forlorn look, “I’m allergic to cinnamon.” He took a deep breath. “So nothing is going to keep me from my Ma’s pie, not you, not Hydra, not the FSB and not fucking cinnamon. You got me?”

It was hard to argue against that, not that Bucky got the chance.

Sam hissed “Go!” at him, and then loudly yelled “Coming out now!” while standing up and practically jogging away from their cover. He was lucky he didn’t get shot doing that. No wonder he and Steve got along so well. Reckless idiots the pair of them.

After a heart-beat’s hesitation, and while all the soldiers’ attention was foolishly focused on the crazy-ass Avenger in front of them, Bucky silently ran to another stack of crates. He paused for half a moment to make sure no-one had spotted him, and then, while half of them were busy securing a loudly-ranting-about-his-rights Sam Wilson (thanks Sam), and the other half were nervously approaching the first stack of crates in an attempt to capture him as well, he was moving again.

He noiselessly slipped through the shadows of a derelict biplane, before using its mostly intact nose as a jumping point to launch himself onto the top-tier walkway, which still looked solid and luckily was, before placing a foot on the railing and jumping out of the hole where part of the metal roof had rusted away. All this was done in just a few seconds.

He landed with a slight clang which made him wince. But it couldn’t be helped. He’d simply have to hope that Sam was still making enough noise to cover it, or if not, simply trust in his speed to get him away before they could react. They’d probably realised he wasn’t behind the crates by now.

He jumped down from the roof and quickly surveyed the airfield. Still no sign of that plane they’d been coming to meet. No, that was too much to hope for.

Nothing that way of any use at all. He’d have to risk going round the hanger and seeing if he could steal one of the vehicles this lot had come in. He was guessing they’d probably already disabled the car he and Sam had arrived in.

He dashed around the outside, as silent as his ghostly reputation. He could hear them searching the interior for him. He was running out of time.

He carefully glanced around the corner and saw four men guarding three military Humvees. If he used one of the vehicles for cover, taking out four men non-fatally might be possible. Whether he could do it fast enough to avoid their friends inside coming to their aid was another matter entirely. 

He suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a speeding bike engine and in the blink of an eye it appeared in his line of sight, racing towards the hanger and the soldiers. The rider was slight and wearing a tan jacket and black pants. Shit, it was her.

She was good, he had to give her that. He’d been sure they’d shaken her, yet here she was ahead of the FSB, GRU, The Germans, Hydra and even the rest of the US-fucking-Army.

Unluckily for him, the seemingly lucky smucks who’d been left on guard duty were well trained, and within seconds were behind the cover of the Humvees, guns raised at the unknown (to them anyway) individual approaching. Normally such a distraction would be welcome but he knew there was no chance he could take her out as well as them. He was officially screwed. Sorry Sam.

His only thin hope had been stealing one of the Humvees while the soldiers went out to identify her, but they were too disciplined to leave their position.

She brought the high-powered bike to a squealing, rear-wheel spinning stop, and took off her helmet, shaking out her bright red locks. “Stand down boys, only me.”

 _Damn_. The Black Widow had some serious style.

Maybe with her there they might stand a chance of surviving whatever ambush Hydra and his other aspiring captors/executioners were undoubtedly putting in place. He might even make it into US Government custody. It was a small comfort but it was all he had.

She was clearly viewed as a superior in the soldier’s chain of command, because the moment she was recognised a wave of the hand from the highest-ranked of the group had the guns previously aimed in her direction lowering to point at the ground.

She smiled at the 2nd Lieutenant (!) (that was surprising) and dismounted her bike with a friendly “Thanks” in the man’s direction, helmet still under her arm.  Her head tilted fractionally as her eyes moved over the scene in front of her. It was subtle, but he was sure that meant she’d noticed his presence, but he didn’t know why he thought that. And she didn’t do anything, just smiled again at the army officer approaching her.

“Maam, what can we do for you?” the man asked. No salute but obvious deference. The Sergeant in Bucky wondered how that worked. 

Suddenly she looked Bucky right in the eyes.

Then, nodding her head unmistakably in his direction, she calmly replied to the soldier’s inquiry with four simple words that sent an almost electric charge running up Bucky’s spine.

“I’m here for him.”

Reacting fast, all the soldiers spun around to re-focus their weapons on his position.

Well if anyone deserved to bring him in he guessed it was the woman he’d shot twice.

He sighed and steeling himself for the reality of finally surrendering, he raised his hands and stepped out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha once again proves her total 80s movies geekery. #TeamNatasha.

He was prepared for yelling, guns being pointed in his direction and inevitably being forced to his knees. What he wasn’t prepared for was hearing the words “Barnes, duck!” being shouted at him in that smoky voice, but that didn’t stop him reacting. There was a spray of wild gun fire above him as he almost instinctively hit the deck and rolled, righting himself just in time to see her knocking out the last guard with her helmet. The other three were already sprawled on the ground, all sporting the very latest in sedative darts.

Huh. He could honestly say he hadn’t seen that coming.

He quickly pushed himself up to his feet and stood silently watching her. She shot the downed soldier with her tranq gun (sensible) before she picked up her helmet and inspected it for damage.

At this distance Bucky was positive he could dodge the few darts she probably had left, even with her being as good a shot as he knew her to be. Plus, if they were suitable for use on regular people, he doubted they’d even slow him down much. But shooting him didn’t seem to be on her current itinerary.

She walked back over to the bike and elegantly swung a leg over the machine, mounting it close to the front of the saddle and fastening on her black helmet.

She flicked up the opaque visor. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Her face broke into a wicked grin. “I’ve always wanted to say that. It’s from The Terminator.”

Bucky knew he probably looked a little stupefied right now, but he honestly would have been less surprised if a time-travelling robot had turned up. Although he supposed technically he qualified for that part.

“I’m just going to start wearing a badge that says ‘I have Netflix’.”

That actually got him a laugh before she was all business again. “Seriously Barnes, get your ass on this bike, we need to go.”

He had questions, oh so many questions, but he could tell from her demeanour that they’d have to wait. He approached the bike, and she opened up the rear compartment pulling out a second helmet that he put on without complaint. Facial recognition technology really was a bitch.

He stopped and looked her in the eyes, “Wilson?”

She maintained the eye contact, “He’ll be fine.”

He believed her. He nodded, secured the helmet and got on the bike behind her, gently placing his hands on her waist. She grabbed his arms and pulled them further around her. “I’ll be opening her up Barnes, they were pretty hot on my tail coming in. This isn't the best time to be a gentleman.”

In-built comms, right, he was sure he’d come across them before. No idea where or when it had been though.

“I was never the gentleman doll face.” He held on to her a little more securely but still with less contact than she'd encouraged.

She started the engine and hit the throttle and with an amused-sounding “I’ll make a note,” they were off.

She ably evaded the large potholes that littered the crumbling tarmac of the base he was pretty sure was older than he was, and as they sped out past the broken barrier at the gatehouse, and onto the narrow one-lane road that led from the ass-end-of-nowhere to hell knows, she took a hard right and his loose grip around her finally tightened.

“I did warn you.”

He was amazed at how clearly he could hear her over the road noise and the wind screaming past them. Obviously what he’d used had been inferior, or more likely older, tech. “Yeah well I’m heavier than I look and I don’t want to hurt you. Again.”

She muttered something under her breath in Russian that he couldn’t make out. A beat later what came back to him through his earpiece in English was “I’m over it and I’m tougher than I look.”

He didn’t doubt that. But was it OK for him to still not be over it even if she was?

“Look back and see if you can see anything on our six.”

She slowed down fractionally, just enough to make that a somewhat possible task, but he still made sure to shift his weight around slowly as not to upset their balance.

He could just make out two, maybe three black dots in the far distance, armoured cars if he had to guess, but whether they were military or something else he couldn’t tell.

“Anything?” She sounded concerned.

“Yes, but not close.”

“Close enough to see us?”

He considered it for a moment. He roughly knew how much better his eye sight was than that of someone un-enhanced, but if was never an absolute thing. Clint’s eyesight was pretty damn spectacular. But considering the relative size of the bike and the cars, as well as the distance… “It’s unlikely.”

From his current position leaning up against her back he could clearly feel the lessening of tension in her body at his words. And when he had—carefully—shifted back around and had his arms looped around her once again, she briefly placed one of her hands on his right arm. “Thanks.”

He missed the warmth of her hand almost the instant it was gone. None of this made sense. Her being there, or his reaction to her. He was comfortable around her. Even by his admittedly far from normal standards that was weird. He cleared his throat and winced as he remembered she could hear it. “So, you’re back on Steve’s side now?”

“No.”

_Right._

“If you’re still on Stark’s side why didn’t you just let those guys take me in? They’ll be after you now too.”

“No they won’t. They won’t have the chance. I’m turning myself in after this. And I was never on Tony’s side, I was always on my own side, the two just happened to align for a while.”

“It sure looked like you were still team Tony back at the airport.”

He felt her shrug. “It benefited me at the time to have everyone think that.”

“Clint was pretty broken up about it.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I’ll probably have to pay Nate’s way through college to make that one up to him.”

He sat back a moment and watched the German countryside race by. He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to turn him in at this point. What he still didn’t get was what her actual plan was. She was The Black Widow, her plans typically had plans.

He took a breath, “So your interests and Stark’s interests, when did they stop aligning?”

“When you were framed.”

OK. He was clearly missing something here. Well he knew he was missing a lot of things in general, it was a major draw back of seven decades of brain washing, but this was obviously something specific to her.

He was about to ask something that was potentially monumentally stupid, when she interrupted him with the words “We’re here”.

She swung the bike off the road and onto a small lane that was signposted as a route to a picnic spot. Turns out this was an area of outstanding natural beauty, not that he’d had chance to notice. They pulled into a clearing complete with picnic tables and a small car park which was home to currently zero visitors and just one sleek saloon car. A silver BMW. Pretty much ubiquitous in these parts and therefore perfect for spies.

“Thank you Ivan,” he heard her mutter.

She brought them to a stop next to the car, and he put his feet on the ground to help steady the bike while she kicked the stand into place. She took her helmet off, hung it from the handle bars and dismounted, heading for the driver-side of the car. She reached into the rear-wheel arch on the way and pulled out a key, which she smoothly inserted into the lock, all in one seamless motion.

She pulled open the door and flipped open the sun visor, removing two envelopes that had been concealed behind it. She quickly checked the contents of both and seemingly satisfied, pocketed one while the other she dropped on to the front seat.

She turned around to face him. He’d also taken off his helmet but had remained on the bike. The key was still in the ignition which he figured she’d done purposely to reassure him; if anything happened he could easily take the bike and run. It had worked.

She nodded towards the envelope she’d dropped, “There’s enough Euros in there for a couple of days, and the sat nav has been programmed to guide you to a fully-stocked safe house. I have a friend who retired here, for his health, and he’s helped me set this up. He’s good. You should be able to stay off everyone’s radar until we get this cleared up.”

The small bitter smile on her face told him exactly what ‘for his health’ meant. Another state-declared Russian defector like her then.

He couldn’t avoid the question any longer. Not now he was certain her intention was in fact to help.

“If this isn’t for Steve, then why?”

She broke eye contact and with practiced casualness, leant against the hood, gazing into the middle distance as though recalling something long past. It was textbook distancing, and while he wasn’t really a gentleman, he was too much of one to call her on that.

“I have possibly six—maybe seven--people I’d honestly consider close friends and Steve is one of them. But my loyalty to my friends doesn’t dictate my actions. It can’t. I’m a realist, Steve’s an optimist. No he’s an idealist. We come at this from opposite ends. He saw the Accords and saw Insight, another eroding of civil rights; I saw a starting position for negotiation over some much-needed oversight. Honestly we probably both agree on the need for accountability, but Steve is almost too good for this world, never mind the workings of Congress.”

Bucky couldn’t help snorting at that.

Mirth flashed in Natasha’s eyes for a second but then she was once again all business in biking gear. “But the second the Accords passed and suddenly someone was setting you up as the perfect scape goat, it was all too engineered. Someone, someone I didn’t know, was hijacking things, pushing their own agenda, and after Hydra, after Tony and Ultron, I promised myself I wouldn’t let these things get by me. Not again.”

“You didn’t think it was me? The bombing?”

Her eyes suddenly went to heaven, and if it were someone else he would have thought they were blinking back tears. “No. I knew it wasn’t.”

“You have evidence?”

She met his eyes again finally. “I do now. Enough I hope.”

He was lost. She was making it sound as if—up until now—she’d been operating, not on faith, but on real belief. In him. She didn’t even know him. And he’d shot her. Twice.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” That was an understatement.

She pushed up and away from her position against the car and seemed to be gathering herself. She took a few steps, arms crossed and eyes on her feet until she’d neared the bike. More than anything else she’d done or said to this point, this astounded him. This was Natasha. Not the Widow. No artifice, no front, no game, and he didn’t know why she was showing herself, stripped naked in this fashion, to him of all people.

She raised her eyes and put out her hand for his helmet. He handed it to her and dismounted. He knew this was on her terms or not at all. She popped the rear compartment open, stowed it and remounted the bike.

She started the engine and he began to suspect that she was about live up to her enigmatic reputation and leave without another word, but instead, she stilled. And with what he’d decided must be an almost trademark sardonic twist to her mouth, she uttered words he’d never before thought to hear outside of a science fiction movie: “Let’s just say living with an honest-to-god mind reader for the past year has been an eye-opening experience.”

Yes, Wanda did have that effect he’d noticed. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, “Still waiting for that explanation here. That didn’t really qualify”.

She hit him with a level stare. “Do you think you’re entitled to one?”

He’d been going for playful–he’d used to do that, he was sure—and her question was asked with an air of curiosity rather than accusation, but his guilt provided the sting her voice had lacked. He had absolutely no right to anything from her, least of all her help and yet here she was giving it.

He looked away. Head dipping down and his hair falling forward into his face again. He pushed it back with an irritated swipe of his right hand. He really had to cut it one of these days. “No. Sorry. Thank you for everything you've done.”

He glanced back in her direction after failing to hear any of the expected preparation for leaving. She hadn’t moved, other than to pull on a pair of riding gloves that had materialised out of some storage compartment or another while he’d been distracted, and her eyes were still fixed on him, her head slightly tilted as though she was gazing at something that required consideration and deep thought. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that, he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth anything these heroes were risking for him.

He felt guilty for asking her for more, but he couldn’t just vanish on his friends, not again. Or go into hiding without knowing what would happen to them. “Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda – is there any way you could let them know I’m safe? Or even just update me on what’s happened to them? I’ve not heard anything about Steve since the idiot turned himself in.”

The half-smile was back. “Yeah, I’m still pretty annoyed at him for that too; it’s the second time in as many weeks that he’s screwed up my plans with some grand noble gesture.”

“Well it is kind of his thing you know.”

Her smile grew into something more genuine. “Yeah, you know, I think I might have noticed something along those lines.”

The Black Widow was kinda fun, who knew. And even more beautiful when she smiled, but that thought was another thing he had absolutely no right to.    

The look she directed towards him had switched to something more serious now, and she popped open the front storage compartment between the handlebars of the bike and pulled out a sleek smart phone.

She held it out towards him. “It’s supposed to be untraceable but I still don’t want you using it for anything outgoing. I’ll send you messages with updates at random intervals. Keep it turned off unless absolutely necessary and on for no longer than five minutes at a time.”

He approached the bike, coming close enough to take the phone from her hand. His right arm came forwards and his fingers had just loosely gripped the end nearest him when he found himself pausing, “Thanks, this means a lot.”

His grip tightened, and he expected her to automatically release her own hold on the ‘lifeline’ that she had just freely offered to him, so when she kept her fingers in place he looked up in surprise. Her gaze had grown intense in those few seconds he’d been focused on the phone now connecting them, and he found he couldn’t look away.

She took a long, slow breath in, before releasing it in a barely-audible sigh. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.”

She was clearly weighing something up in her mind, and just as he felt his own brow starting to furrow with his growing confusion, he heard her mutter “Screw it” in Russian.

He hadn’t realised how much his defences had lowered around her until he was caught totally unprepared when her hand released the phone and grabbed hold of his wrist instead, pulling him forwards with a sharp, powerful tug that upset his normally exceptional balance.  

Barely a fraction of a second later, just as he felt his own, usually pretty-destructive, instincts kick-in in response to this unexpected move, she rose up off the saddle and grabbed the collar of his jacket, and then his entire world became the sensation of her warm soft lips on his.

He stamped down heavily on the part of his brain that was still blaring an alarm and focused on the kiss. It was the best feeling he could remember experiencing, and within moments, even longer-standing instincts had kicked in, and he found himself cupping her jaw and responding in kind.

He’d totally lost track of time when she finally pulled away and he realised he’d even closed his eyes. It was suicidally-stupid given his current circumstances but, as he rested his forehead against hers and took in her blown pupils, and the rapid breaths passing through her still-parted lips, he admitted to himself that if he could choose a way to go, this would probably be it.

Well maybe during a second kiss, no way would he have wanted to miss-out on seeing her looking like this. Fortunately for him, it seemed Natasha had the same idea, as her fingers were in his hair and her mouth back on his almost as soon as he’d finished having the thought.

This time he was more prepared, and he deepened and slowed the kiss, caressing her lips and tongue with his own with the same focus and expert timing that had made him so ‘useful’ as an asset to Hydra.

Of course, it had made him a hell of a shot and a pretty great dancer before they’d ever got their hands on him, not that they’d cared about that. And, of course, he was now thinking about Hydra, rather than the gorgeous and deadly woman in front of him--who he’d somehow now lifted off the bike and placed back down side saddle (so they had some purchase), and who’s left leg had just hooked around the back of his thigh--as otherwise, the way things were progressing, they might literally ‘be caught with their pants down’.

But Natasha, his saviour once again, broke away and spared him the painful decision. Her leg dropped back down to the ground, and she placed one last kiss on his bottom lip before possessively tracing over it with her thumb. “I didn’t realise how much I’d missed that, missed you.”

He placed a gentle kiss on the pad of her thumb before her words finally registered.

_Huh? What?_

The blood was gradually returning to his brain it would appear. He stood upright and took a step back, hoping the distance would help him make sense of her words, instead all it did was make him miss her body pressed up against his own.

He shook his head, half in denial and half trying to clear it of the lust-induced fog that was still enveloping his thought processes. “I don’t-”.

She interrupted him, “I know. I didn’t expect you to. But I had to be selfish just this once”. The wry half-smile was back in place.

He smiled back, but he knew his confusion was clear on his face. “I don’t mind your type of selfish.”

So one of those still-empty spots in his memory held more of her than the two near misses he remembered, or at least she thought it did.

The warm smile, the one that made her green eyes flash, was back for a moment and then in an instant she was back in front of him. She slipped the almost forgotten phone into his pocket and, reaching up on tip-toes, she gave him a gentle, almost chaste kiss before quickly turning on her heel, mounting her bike and putting on her helmet.

She revved the engine and flipped up her visor, giving him one last piercing look that made him shiver for all the right reasons.  “I just want you to know that my side is always going to be your side James.”

And with that she was gone.

He stood staring after her until even his advanced hearing could no longer make out the hum of the motorbike. He shook himself out of his stupor and headed towards the car. He picked up the envelope and keys from where she’d dropped them on the front seat.

He sat down and thumbed through the contents – yes there was enough Euros for a few days, if he was planning to spend those few days at The Ritz. There was a good two and a half thousand in there along with a US passport naming him Grant Rogers. He cringed at that. Clearly, someone thought they were a comedian. He wondered if it was Natasha’s doing or her friend’s.  

He removed a couple of bills and the ID, tucking them into one of the many pockets on his tactical jacket just in case, and swinging his legs into the car he placed the envelope back above the visor for quick access and shut the door. He should get going while the going was good. He needed to be well on his way to wherever it was Natasha was sending him, before the eventual victors of the tussle currently taking place at the airfield came in search of their real target, him. But he was still desperately trying to slow down his racing heart.

For most people having at least six groups trying to track them down and kill or capture them would be enough to make them feel alive, but for him it was now simply another day at the office. But that kiss, that kiss had really shaken him up. Not because it was good, though it was, but because he had so few memories of those 70 years with Hydra, and until now he’d counted that a blessing.

The few he did have were from the early days, before they’d probably perfected the wiping process he guessed, and they were more than enough material for his frequent nightmares. Now though he had to wonder if the pain of getting them all back would be worth it if she, and whatever they were to each other, was in there somewhere too. One good thing in the middle of it all.

Not that he had any choice in the matter. It would come or it wouldn't. His brain would heal, or the memories would be gone for good. There was nothing he could do to influence the outcome one way or the other. At least he now had the comfort that if it did all return it might not be the unmitigated, unbroken stream of horrors that he'd anticipated.

He leaned back into the ergonomic driver's seat. He should already be on his way, but he couldn't help but take a moment for himself.

He closed his eyes and replayed the kiss with Natasha in his mind, and found himself unable to fight the smile that was rising up from the right-hand corner of his mouth. He didn't know if it was the Soldier part of him or the Bucky part of him that found the former soviet assassin so insanely smoking hot, but suddenly the incentives for 'getting through this', as Steve had said they had to (as if it was purely as simple as 'hanging in there' like the cats in the posters), were a lot more tangible. As long as he didn't end up in some super super max somewhere of course.

This time he didn't need the little Sam and Steve voices that seemed to have taken up full-time residence in his head to tell him off. Even he was annoyed at himself for that piece of Class A negativity. If ever there was a moment to 'let himself enjoy' it was this one. Too bad his mental state had had most of the positivity crushed out of it by everything that had happened since, oh, say... 1943.

It was almost funny looking back now and recalling that out of the two of them, him and Steve, he'd always been the most optimistic.

He sat upright and looked for the keyhole for the ignition only to find it was one of those 'push button' start cars. Figures. He'd loved advanced technology in the 40s, but ever since he'd become a walking showcase for it, it had lost some of its previously held appeal. But at least thanks to Hydra's 'unique' training methods, he was more than comfortable with all aspects of the modern mechanics and gadgetry, so he had the car purring in moments, and was just about to pull out of the clearing and onto the still blissfully empty road, when the vibrations of the other bit of tech on his person grabbed his attention.

He stuck the car in park and fished the phone out of the jacket pocket she'd slipped it into. There was a thumbprint image on the screen, so he held his own there for a second until the device unlocked. She'd made the smartphone seem like an after thought, but he should have known better.

A message bubble popped up containing a distant but in focus shot of Sam in the back of one of the US Army Humvees. Below it were the words: _SW fine. Russians not Hydra. International incident avoided. I'm trailing them back to base.'_

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Sam was all right.

Another message bubble popped up. _All goes to plan, we'll rendezvous this address in five days._

A street address in Zurich popped up, and sure enough when he tapped on the sat nav the route it was guiding him on ended in the Swiss city. He wasn't sure what he felt about that. At least it wasn't Austria. And the address she'd sent him definitely wasn't the one he was being directed towards. He zoomed in on the map and located the meeting spot she'd identified. It was...an Italian restaurant?

Another message appeared on the screen. _8pm._ _House red is fine and I'll have the lobster ravioli._

His smile was back. OK, fine. They win. He'll buy into their belief that there was something beyond this for him other than ending up back in the hands of Hydra at worst or a US penitentiary at best. That somehow there was a future where he was back with his best friend and he had the freedom to take a beautiful woman like Natasha Romanoff out to dinner. He was pretty sure it was the last thing the Winter Soldier deserved, but maybe he should start cutting this James Barnes guy some slack, he apparently had good people.

He stuck the phone back in his pocket and finally started on his journey south.

He checked the rear-view mirror one last time before making his first turn off the back woods road. No one was following him and the way ahead was totally clear.

Now wasn't that something.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. My guilt-fic is finished.  
> \-----------------------------------------------  
> My mini wish list for Civil War: Natasha has a black cat/Clint has a dog, Bucky and Natasha speak to each other (I'd settle for even a sentence), Bucky and Clint showing off their sniping skills in front of each other, Steve addressing his guilt over not talking to Bucky about what happened to him in Austria, Pancakes.
> 
> Or even just boomerang arrows.
> 
> Any one of these and I'll be beyond happy.
> 
> Just 13 weeks to go!!


End file.
